


Kintsugi

by loves_books



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Body Image, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 19:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18224666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: Each scar tells a story.





	Kintsugi

**Author's Note:**

> _Kintsugi – the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold. As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise._

Each scar tells a story.

Some stories are better than others, of course. Some scars make far better tales to be told around a campfire, while others are more private sources of embarrassment. Never of shame, though.

Each mark etched into his skin is there for a reason, because of something that happened to him or was done to him, and some of those reasons are immediately obvious at first glance. Others are more obscure. The neat surgical scar on the right side of his stomach is clearly from his appendectomy, while the story behind the rough scar stretching from right knee to hip is far less obvious.

Each scar is part of his history, and while some of his scars are still vivid and red even years after the original wound, others have faded almost completely. Silvery, feathery white lines, nearly lost beneath the tan he works so hard to maintain, only visible if you truly know where to look for them. But they are still there.

Some are straight, neat, surgical. Others are rough, misshapen, like the deep trough above his left hip where a bullet flew too close for comfort. Some have clearly been stitched by steady, trained hands in sterile hospital rooms, while others have been stitched at speed in the field, desperation and blood loss far more important than aesthetics.

He’s never been worried about aesthetics, despite outward appearances. He might wear a mask in public most of the time, but his scars are a part of who he is, just like his tattoo. Some people might think of the marks as ugly. Those are the same people who call him ‘pretty’ without bothering to look beneath the surface to see just how dangerous he really is.

Each scar is also a way of healing and moving on, at least for him. Seeing each wound in the immediate aftermath of the injury can be brutal, either waking in a hospital, already bandaged neatly, or biting his lip to avoid screaming while a fellow Ranger is patching him up in the middle of a battle. It never feels real in the moments after it happens – adrenaline is a wonderful drug – but when the torn flesh starts the long healing process, he can allow himself to feel it, both physically and mentally.

The puffy, swollen wounds, often marked with black stiches either visible or hidden beneath clean white dressings, might look awful to the naked eye. But they show that he survived.

Weeks later, when wounds are turning to scars, they still look awful, and he might well be having nightmares, but he survived. As his body heals, his mind heals too, which is often the more important and difficult thing, particularly if those wounds have been deliberately inflicted.

Tortured with knives or beaten with fists, those scars will hold a strange and particular pride for him years later. He survived. He might not know exactly how he survived, but he did. And if he survived that, then he can survive whatever the world might throw at him next.

Plastic surgery doesn’t appeal, nor does laser treatment. Why would he put himself through more pain in an attempt to get rid of his scars? It would be like erasing his own history. Unthinkable.

He can choose to hide his scars temporarily if he wishes, of course, and if he does then that doesn’t mean they aren’t still an important part of him. Most are concealed under his clothing from day to day, and others can be easily hidden with careful makeup too, if he wants, in the same way he can conceal his tattoo for a con.

He’ll still know that they’re there, even the ones he does secretly wish he could forget, like the one on his left knee. That one is no battle scar, no – he earned that tiny one-inch scar when he fell down the stairs one night, drunk out of his mind, with no idea he’d even cut himself until he woke up the next morning with blood-stained sheets.

Who is he trying to kid? That was a good night, and touching the scar makes him smile, thinking of the friends who had been out with him celebrating. Others might think his scars are ugly, but he loves the history behind each and every one of them, whether glorious or not. The sword fight in Iraq. The exploding jeep in Russia. The gallbladder surgery. The bullet graze on his left temple.

It’s the scars inside that never quite heal, the memories from other injuries that haunt him far more. He can’t touch those scars to remind himself he survived. He can’t see the living proof that he made it through, still miraculously in one piece.

Electrocuted and waterboarded for days, not a single mark on him when he’d finally escaped, just muscles that wouldn’t stop trembling for a week and an odd fear of showers that had taken a long time to fully overcome.

Deliberately hooked on drugs in an attempt to make him desperate and compliant. Rescued within days, but the withdrawal had been a bitch and he still finds himself battling cravings at the strangest times.

Locked in a pitch-black room with no human contact for nine days. That one in particular still gives him nightmares even now, years later, and probably always will, in spite of his therapist. Oh yes, he sees a therapist now and then, there’s no shame in that. They all need a little help from time to time, doing the jobs they do.

But he also has someone who loves him and all his scars, someone who has scars of his own, scars that tell other stories. Some of their scars match – left ribcage, right shoulder, lower right back – and others are almost mirror images, such as the crescent moon scars on opposite wrists. Each is beautiful and unique and special, just like the two men they belong to.

His lover also has scars inside, and those stories are far harder to share, though they are opening up to each other more and more as the years pass by and they move from casual lovers to two halves of the same whole. When one of them wakes in the middle of the night with a gasp, the other is right there, caressing and soothing and holding them tightly until the shivers pass and their heartbeat settles.

They touch the visible scars with tender hands because they can’t touch the invisible ones. And they kiss, passionately, a reminder that they survived and they can survive whatever might come next. Especially if they are together.

**Author's Note:**

> Written in about half an hour after visiting an art exhibition which explored the theme of repair, among many other themes. It wasn't the main exhibition I went to see, but it was all I could think about on the way home - the artist in question is Kader Attia. Not quite sure why it led me to write A-Team fanfic but there we go!


End file.
